inches from his and, despite the wet hair plastered to her skull, she was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
She smiled. ‘Now this is a new way of breaking the ice. My college social club would be impressed.’
He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he understood very well the invitation in her eyes. And so he kissed her.
It wasn’t a long kiss and it shouldn’t have been a sexy kiss. Their lips were cold from the river and Jacob was clinging to the sapling’s trunk with one hand while he held Nell to prevent her from falling.
But it was a kiss Jacob would never, to the end of his days, forget. From the moment their lips met, he adored the feel and the taste of Nell, loved her response—so feminine, so…right.
Too soon their wonderfully intimate hello was over and he boosted Nell up over the rim of the bank and came after her, tumbling on to the grass.
He might have kissed her again, but they were apart now and he lost his nerve, remembered that she was the boss’s daughter and he was the cook’s son.
Instead, they lay in the grass at the top of the bank and let the morning sun stream over them, and Jacob contented himself with admiring her breasts, gorgeously outlined by her wet shirt.
‘So tell me about your college social club,’ he said.
‘Oh, they’re always coming up with new ways to get everyone to mix.’ Nell sat up and lifted her wet hair from the back of her neck. ‘They’ve run a series of cocktail parties where girls and guys can meet, but we’re only allowed eight minutes or so to chat with each person and to tell them about ourselves—just enough time to figure out whether people click.’
‘Sounds…racy.’
Nell grinned coyly, leant sideways and squeezed water from her hair into the grass. ‘Not really. It’s only chatting, after all.’
Considering that he’d just kissed her, he supposed she had a point.
‘So when you were at one of these parties,’ he said, ‘you would have said something like—I’m Nell Harrington, I’m nineteen and I’m studying Arts. I like horse riding, apple crumble with cream and sitting in trees.’
Her blue eyes widened. ‘How did you know about the apple crumble?’
‘My mum was asked to make it especially for your homecoming.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I like Maggie. My mother says she’s the best cook we’ve ever had.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
Suddenly the stupidity of this meeting hit Jacob like a smart bomb. What in blue blazes was he doing here chatting with Nell Harrington? Her father would have him neutered if he ever found out.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed his horse’s reins. ‘I have to get to work.’ With luck, the sun and a fast ride would dry his clothes and no one would be any the wiser.
Nell smiled up at him, all sweetness and dimples. ‘Do you think we should try for another date?’
That moment had been his chance. He should have told her, No, not on your Nelly, and changed the course of their history, saved decades of heartache. Should have got the hell out of there.
Now, twenty years later, Jacob winced as he remembered how crazily spellbound he’d been.
‘I’ll see what I can manage,’ he’d said.
Nell studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jacob would be here in five minutes and she looked a fright. The ordeal of yesterday followed by a sleepless night had left her pale and haggard, as dreary and limp as wet seaweed.
Dabbing concealer into the shadows under her eyes, she told herself that it didn’t matter what she looked like. Jacob’s regard for her had disappeared long ago, well before the turn of the twenty-first century.
Despite his controlled good manners yesterday, he’d made it painfully clear that he blamed her, probably despised her. She’d seen it in his eyes, had heard it in his voice and when he’d accused her of giving Tegan away, she’d been too stunned and numb to defend herself. Now he believed he had the high moral ground. For that reason alone she needed to gain some self control. And she needed to look OK.
Taking more than usual care, she lengthened her lashes with mascara, applied blusher to bring colour into her cheeks and selected her favourite lipstick. She ran her fingers lightly through her freshly washed hair, letting it fall loosely to her shoulders, took a step back from the mirror and drew a deep breath.
Her make-up and hair were OK and her floral top and blue skirt were cheery and feminine.
‘You’ll do,’ she told her reflection. She actually looked close to normal now.
If only she felt composed. She was no more prepared to ‘chat’ with Jacob today than she had been yesterday after the funeral. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. About Tegan. About Tegan’s baby, Sam.
Her mind buzzed like a bee in summer, darting frantically with no clear course. One minute she was drowning beneath the loss of her daughter, the next she was wildly, guiltily excited about the reappearance of Jacob after twenty years, and then she was sobered by the thought of her baby grandson and Jean Browne’s mysterious need to discuss something.
Nell had telephoned the Brownes the day after Tegan’s death. Desperately distressed, she’d needed to talk to them and she’d found comfort from being able to offer help. Bill Browne had suffered a stroke a few months earlier and poor Jean was carrying a huge burden, dealing with her grief while caring for him and the tiny baby, Sam.
Nell had done the little she could—a chicken casserole, help with finding a solicitor. She’d even minded Sam while Jean had dealt with the funeral directors. In a bonding moment over a cup of tea in the Brownes’ kitchen, she’d told Jean the circumstances of Tegan’s birth.
They’d cried together.
If Jean needed more help now, Nell knew she would be happy to lend a hand. She was less certain about Jacob.
Overnight, every forbidden memory of her youthful lover had shot to the surface—memories of the river, of the endless conversations she and Jacob had shared, of that first morning, sitting on the tree branch, falling into the water.
She and Jacob had even read poetry together. Fresh from her first year at university, she’d been mad about Yeats. She hadn’t expected a rugged cowboy to be interested in poetry, had been gobsmacked when Jacob had brought a copy of Yeats that had belonged to his father. They’d read selections to each other and she’d loved listening to Jacob’s deep voice rumbling sexily against a backdrop of chuckling water and softly piping finches.
Good grief. She shouldn’t be remembering such things after all this time. But every memory of Jacob Tucker was alive and vivid in her head—his shy, serious smile, the sexy power of his body, his gentle hands.
When she closed her eyes she could still see him lying in the shaded grass, one arm curved above his head, throwing a shadow over his beautiful face. She could see him looking at her from beneath heavy lids. Could see the thrilling intensity of his grey eyes, feel the warmth of his lips on hers.
Nell forced her eyes open again, blinked hard, shook her head. It was both fruitless and painful to revisit the past.
She and Jacob had each gone down separate paths. She’d married Robert Ruthven and Jacob had acquired a cattle kingdom. They’d grown older, richer, wiser and had become very different adults.
Yet here they were, brought back together by the very thing that had separated them in the first place.
Their daughter.
The front doorbell rang and she jumped. That will be Jacob.
She wondered what they were going to talk about till it was time to go to the Brownes’, and cast another frantic glance at the mirror.